


in the silence between the words

by saltines



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e11 Failsafe, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flustered Catra, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One Shot, POV Third Person, Pining, Short One Shot, Vignette, Vulnerability, flustered adora, season five spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltines/pseuds/saltines
Summary: Three years had passed since, and, yet, Catra could recall in detail how the overhead lights outlined the flecks of liquid gold sprinkled in Adora’s hair, how the crystalline frost layers set her blue eyes aglow, how blistering the room had felt despite the walls of ice surrounding them. Catra remembered how Adora had, rather oddly, and pleasantly, at the same time (though she could never dare admit), smelled as if a field of flowers, how the dress she wore, a shade of red burning bright as the flames that had enshrouded them with such warmth that night, had hugged her waist…Yes, she remembered, every last bit of it.Catra remembered how, as the music reached its crescendo, she had taken Adora in her arms, Adora, who then had seemed so soft, so brittle and delicate and adamantine, all at once, as Catra rested her hand on the small of her back. Catra remembered how, as she bent down and lowered Adora into a dip, her first instinct had been to perch her fingers on the back of her neck, pull her in closer, touch Adora’s forehead with her own, and say,stay.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	in the silence between the words

The day had nearly drawn to a close, but much of it was yet to begin, and Adora knew it. Come nightfall stars blanketed the Etherian sky, once so vacant, nondescript, cold. Adora had believed it absurd, and, yet, here they were, in the flesh, just as real as the hazy figure—quick and lithe and tiny next to the gargantuan trees scattered across the forest glade, eyes shining amid the darkness. The fog cleared to reveal a face Adora hadn’t quite grown accustomed to seeing, even now. 

It was Catra, bundled up in a cloak she had snatched from Glimmer’s knapsack of spare supplies the day they first arrived at the encampment. _Her Catra_ , Adora remembered Prime say, though she wasn’t entirely sure why the memory would spring up now, of all times. It took a good minute for her to collect herself.

“I thought you’d rather be alone,” Adora turned away briefly from the bonfire to greet her with a smile, “Long day, huh?”

“Don’t go thinking I followed you here,” thrown off, Catra choked on half the words. She had wanted, more than anything right now, especially, to keep herself from sounding so brusque, but it took greater effort than she realized. 

_Nice going, idiot_ , she thought. A look of quiet surprise crossed her face and disappeared before Adora could catch it, to Catra’s comfort. It didn’t take much for Adora to read into her emotions, after all. 

Any other night, Catra would’ve denied she wanted company. Yet, this time, things felt different. _Okay_ , she thought, breathing in. _Let’s try that again_.

“I mean, you’ve had a long day, too,” in the end, was all Catra could muster after clearing her throat—to which Adora responded with a small smile, another smile. Oh, how Catra could get used to this. 

Adora dusted the space beside her with her right hand, leaning her weight slightly on her other arm. Catra approached slowly, with a guarded restraint about her stance, and crouched down, knees folded near her chest, palms resting atop them. 

Indeed, it was a long day, what with all the questions, these urgent discussions to bring the failsafe back. Earlier that evening she had implored Catra to stay, and before heading to Mystacor, Adora thought it best to clear her head outside while waiting for the rest of the party to get ready. Now, more than ever, the Rebellion needed this win to stop the Heart of Etheria, end Prime’s tyranny for good. 

Catra’s eyes, Adora realized, looked the same as they always had all those years ago. Unsure, still, but sharper—gentler, even—somehow. Certainly, she looked more grown up. Gone now were the streaks of dust-colored fur that framed either side of her freckled face, and Adora saw, almost as if for the first time, and all over again, the curves that traced her jawline, running smoothly up her ears, those velvet ears, now downturned and partly concealed in her short hair, which the wind had rendered unkempt.

Adora had wanted to talk about the other day, on the ship, but couldn’t quite summon the words without having to relive the pang that had left her feeling so arrested, so powerless, back then. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to cause Catra any more pain. No, this time she understood how carefully she needed to choose her words, something she had, admittedly, never found easy. Between the two of them, Catra knew her way around words better than anyone. How she wished such wit would come just as freely for her, as it did for Catra.

“The last time,” Adora hesitated, at first, her eyes shifting toward the sky so as to avoid Catra’s gaze. Catra registered what looked like exasperation (or was it resignation?) on Adora’s face, which she concealed momentarily with her free hand. Adora steeled herself for what would come next, tried her hardest to replace the grief that had crept up on her with resolve.

“That time, at The Kingdom of Snows,” she blushed as soon as the words left her mouth, and she’d hardly even managed to articulate them. What Adora had meant to say, really, was _the last time I held you_ , but in the end changed her mind. Right away she could feel a knot unspooling at the pit of her stomach, fearing it threatened to burst at the seams from the pinprick frenzy. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” Catra scratched the back of her neck with the palm of her hand and turned toward the fire, hoping Adora would mistake the color that rose to her cheeks as light bouncing off the embers. “That dumb prom for princesses.” Of course. How could she possibly forget?

“What about it?”

Adora shook her head, as if to say, _never mind_ , and shrugged her shoulders. For a while, neither spoke a word, each of them so painfully aware, but soothed, at the same time, of the other’s presence. 

“It sounds dumb, but looking back, I had a good time,” Adora decided it best to speak now rather than prolong the agony. And what better time to talk, she decided, with Prime always one step ahead of them, just waiting to unleash the Heart anytime soon. What had she really wanted to achieve, though, saying all this? A wistful expression flashed across Adora’s face, and, without realizing, her fingertips had begun tracing the ripples of sand separating the spot she sat on by a few inches from Catra. “With you, when we…” her voice quieted down to a lull, lost among the faint sounds with which the Woods serenaded them. 

And yet Catra heard her, clear as day. She could tell by the strain in Adora’s muffled tone that she had felt exposed, and thought it best to save her from further embarrassment at this sudden reticence.

“Well, you definitely didn’t look it, that’s for sure,” she looked towards Adora now, who had, to Catra’s surprise, seemed just as flustered as she had been just moments ago. She gave it no further thought—or rather, she couldn’t—for as soon as Adora spoke nothing else mattered.

“I know how messed up things went down that day,” this time Adora fidgeted with the wrist where the armlet she used to carry the Sword of Protection once lay. “But getting to spar like that again, it felt—I mean, I had fun. As crazy as it sounds.”

Try as she did to not look so eager, Catra couldn’t help but chuckle. She would never let her know, but somehow, even in their darkest hours, even as the world around them succumbed to the entropy that had always threatened to swallow the universe whole, and waste away into nothingness—Adora always knew exactly what to say. 

Now and again Catra’s tail would unknowingly brush up Adora’s arm, a feeling she hadn’t known in so long, and yet, so sorely missed. She dared not say anything of this intimacy, in fact even dreaded the transience of the moment. Adora kept silent, else run the risk of losing it a second time—an ache she felt she could afford to recover from no longer. 

“You’re such an idiot,” Catra said, finally, and Adora found herself at once awash with relief. A curious tenderness lay afloat in the air around them, perhaps not from the absence of the pain that each had endured, but, rather, in spite of it. Catra and Adora alike had always treasured this sort of meaningless, playful exchange, and the ease with which it had planted in them both the sort of kinship they had never once derived elsewhere. Just like the old times, as it were, only now they were no longer stifled by pride, nor drowning in anguish. 

Catra didn’t show it, but what she had said, just now, was really more for herself than for Adora. Three years had passed since, and, yet, Catra could recall in detail how the overhead lights outlined the flecks of liquid gold sprinkled in Adora’s hair, how the crystalline frost layers set her blue eyes aglow, how blistering the room had felt despite the walls of ice surrounding them. Catra remembered how Adora had, rather oddly, and pleasantly, at the same time (though she could never dare admit), smelled as if a field of flowers, how the dress she wore, a shade of red burning bright as the flames that had enshrouded them with such warmth that night, had hugged her waist… 

Yes, she remembered, every last bit of it. 

Catra remembered how, as the music reached its crescendo, she had taken Adora in her arms, Adora, who then had seemed so soft, so brittle and delicate and adamantine, all at once, as Catra rested her hand on the small of her back. Catra remembered how, as she bent down and lowered Adora into a dip, her first instinct had been to perch her fingers on the back of her neck, pull her in closer, touch Adora’s forehead with her own, and say, _stay_.

Of course, she didn’t, couldn’t. They were no longer friends, no more than rivals—enemies, in fact—at that point. Besides, what would Adora think? What would she say? It was stupid, Catra knew, nothing but a silly, childish whim she refused to pay any mind. Even so, and despite everything, all she could think was how awfully consoled she had felt now, in the company, no less, of someone who she had, for the longest time, so viciously resented. 

_Idiot…!_

This was bad. Catra felt the blood rushing to her head, her heart hammering away at her chest. Could Adora, perhaps, hear it? Sometimes, in bouts of fleeting weakness, Catra wished it true. That Adora would think to stop for a second and just _listen_. Perhaps, then, it wouldn’t feel so heavy, this anchor that had sunk down her ribcage. And, yet, Catra understood clearly how stupid of a pipe dream it was.

“Shadow Weaver has done the most awful things, and I know she’s the last person in the world you’d like to have around,” Adora lifted her arm to squeeze Catra by the shoulder with a firmness to it that felt reassuring. Surely, if not for the tragedy impending, she wouldn’t have had the nerve, but, alas—longing defeats resistance. 

It felt strange, Catra thought, this Adora who renounced Shadow Weaver’s treachery, who said her name with utmost revulsion; this Adora whose hand held her hand, whose hand, steady hand, took her by the shoulder, touched her cheek with the unspoken promise that everything would be okay. Then again, Adora—neither of them—were the same. Now and then, when Catra would see her reflection, she’d feel as if she were looking back at faded images of selves she had once inhabited, wallowing in a mire of hatred and misery. Only now, she couldn’t recognize their faces. At least, not completely. 

“But if not for her plan, and this failsafe,” Adora retrieved her hand from its grasp long before Catra could relish the gesture. “There wouldn’t be a world for us, in the first place.”

_A world for us, huh_ , Catra thought. And what would it be like, she mused, this world, now that they both had changed? She could feel the heat once again returning to her face. More than anything, though, Catra wished Adora hadn’t released her grip from her shoulder so soon, all too soon. 

“Yeah, yeah,” was all she could supply, and Catra had meant to continue, asking Adora what she had wanted after this was all over—and wondering, too, if this future would, perhaps, include her…

She had thought, instead, about asking, once the chaos had settled, if she could stay in Bright Moon (or anywhere, really, outside of the junkpile that was the Fright Zone, maybe even in the Crimson Waste) if the Rebellion—if Adora—would have it, would have her. They had never really discussed it, at least, not at length, everything that had since happened between them, and Catra preferred not to impose where she wasn’t wanted, not anymore, considering everything she’d done, the people she’d wronged. If anything, she tried, as best she could, to just be there, in case Adora would, at some point, need her. Not that it had ever been the case, but what else could she do, if not this? And where else would Catra be, if not by her side?

What Catra hadn’t realized, while she contemplated, was Adora, inclining little by little toward her side, her blonde head falling gingerly on her shoulder. Looking at her now, Catra thought, Adora looked so meek, so fragile—the way she had back then, at Princess Prom—as if Adora would crumble into a thousand little pieces if anyone were to touch her. Catra had begun, too, to notice how long the others were taking in collecting their bearings, but she didn’t mind. No, these moments, these few minutes interspersed in the silence between their words, carried with them a certain code Catra knew only she and Adora could decipher.

She sat motionless for a while, knowing Adora had yet to catch up on much-needed rest in the last few weeks. 

The evening had deepened, now, the Woods more silent than it had been just then, as if, somehow, it were listening in. Catra realized just how closely Adora had been seated beside her, and glanced now and then towards her direction, worried if she blinked for so much as a second, she’d find herself sitting by the fire, alone. It took a little more than a few minutes for the night breeze to stir the leaves in the forest canopy, the shrubbery beneath them rustling in a tranquil melody, almost trance-like. She sat up slightly, her nose crinkled, her face animated with a look of recognition. 

Catra laughed, inwardly, at how wrong she had been for thinking she had picked up the scent of forest blossoms, all those years ago. No, not quite that. 

It was home. 

**Author's Note:**

> “We have not touched the stars,  
> nor are we forgiven, which brings us back  
> to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,  
> not from the absence of violence, but despite  
> the abundance of it.”
> 
>  _Crush_ , Richard Siken
> 
> *
> 
> Yes, hi, me again! The Catradora brain rot hasn't subsided, and so I thought I'd let others join me as I screamed into the void. :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading as much as I have, writing this.


End file.
